


Pride Goes Before the Fall (But Darling, You’ll Catch Me Every Time)

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Miscommunication, Power Dynamics, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:32:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrcella refuses to be cowed by this new husband of her. She will not repeat her mother's mistakes, but she is still a lioness, and she knows her worth. Her new husband, on the other hand, is insanely attracted to that confidence and power. Now, if they can only work out this communication thing...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride Goes Before the Fall (But Darling, You’ll Catch Me Every Time)

Myrcella Lannister knew if there was one vice the Lannisters had more than their lion’s share worth, it was pride. Pride had been the downfall of her grandfather, her mother, and her fathers (both the man whose name she had inherited, and the one whose paternity the existence of Arya Stark’s consort and Edric Storm proved true). Even for Tyrion, once hated from shore-to-shore and now lauded as a paragon of benevolence and generosity, pride may still be the means of his hypocritical destruction.

Myrcella knew all of this, but still she was only mortal. She was lion twice over. The blood of kings ran through her veins. She knew her worth, and she would never suffer again being a marionette on a string as she had been for the Martells. Even her beloved Trystane had turned her away once she was no longer of use to his family, and Tyrion had decided she was of use to him instead.

How could she be anything but grateful and subservient, when benevolent Tyrion had saved her from the obscurity and shame by adopting her and Tommen as his heirs? Did it matter that Tyrion couldn’t even bear to look at her without seeing her mother, that it was Tommen who would receive everything and Myrcella who was used as a bargaining chip?

No, it didn’t matter as long as she played her part; let herself be the pretty plaything the Targaryens could trot out when they needed, then put her away again when they no longer needed her smiling and simpering. Not a Princess of Sunspear, but still a princess nonetheless. Still a puppet.

There was one place she take back some of her power, find some semblance of pride even if she still had to play a part to do it.

“Myrcella…”

Her name fell from his lips, hoarse and sultry, as she levered over him, his hands falling upon her hips to steady her over him as she undulated her hips against his. He groaned, the deep sound reverberating as she leaned against him, pressing her mouth to his, her lips gliding over his in a light, teasing caress he could hardly bear.

Aegon moaned her name again, feeling her laugh against his skin as she brought her mouth lower, dragging her tongue along his clavicle. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips in a hiss as she slipped her hand between him, fingers curling around his hardened sex.

He bucked against her hand, her lips moving down his chest and abdomen in light, feathery kisses. A hoarse expletive escaped him as her tongue dipped into his navel, unbelievingly aroused against her touch as she cupped his erection once more, her thumb brushing over the sensitive flesh at the head.

“Myr-Myrcella!”

She smirked against his skin and released him, enjoying the fine tremble in the muscles beneath her as she moved to straddle his waist. A man truly would do anything as long as you had his cock in hand. The thought earned a huff of amusement, though her enjoyment was quick to dim as she remembered just _how_ aroused the body beneath her was. Her time to play was coming to an end; any moment now her husband would turn her over onto her back and do his duty.

Aegon’s eyes opened as the hand on his cock stilled, hazy and dark with desire. He licked his lips before speaking. “You look and touch, but you don’t take. I’m afraid if you don’t take me soon, my lady, I’ll be spent and then I’ll be no further use to you.”

“Seven save us if royal seed goes wasted,” Myrcella snarked, clamping her mouth shut immediately after as she realized that she had actually given voice to the words. She held her breath waiting for a reaction, but Aegon leaned up to press a kiss between her breasts and slipped a hand between them. His fingers testingly ghosted over the slickness he found there, but didn’t penetrate. Instead, he pulled his legs up until his knees were bent and his feet were planted against the mattress.

“Let’s not waste it then,” he replied, a wry smile playing across his lips.

She smiled herself, shifting against him until she began sinking down on him.

Aegon lay back, cupping his hands and bending his arms to provide makeshift stirrups. His eyes were intense and serious as they watched her, preluding the unexpected words that left his mouth a moment later. “Tell me something, wife. What is it the women of the court whisper behind your back?” _What vile gossip makes the light in your eyes dim every time I see you begin to feel the slightest hint of happiness?_

Her face was blank, implacable, fixing him with a steely glare, but Aegon held her gaze as she rested her knees in the offered support and shifted again until he was fully seated inside her. “If that is what my prince wishes to hear…they call me bastard. Abomination. They say I am tainted and disgraced, unfitting of being your bride.” Her lips twisted as she lifted up and held her balance by his thighs, digging her nails in.

“Hmm,” his hips jerked as she refused to sink back down, and he clenched his jaw, “How quickly they forget they are ruled by a family of ‘abominations’? Did you know they whisper of me as well? Some say I can’t possibly be the lost prince Aegon, that your grandfather’s bannermen must have killed him and I’m only an imposter. Mayhaps they need to see me astride Viserion’s back more often.”

He smirked. “They’re fools, Myrcella. Let them talk. It’s no more important than the bleating of sheep. You’re a lioness astride a dragon, a dragon waiting to be ridden.” He bucked lightly again, no true force behind it but instead a reminder of the coiled strength lying passively beneath her. “This is your power, lioness. If you choose to take it.”

Myrcella chose, finding her leverage to slowly begin to ride him. Again and again, they rocked together, the only sounds filling the room being the soft slap of skin against skin, the moans and gasp they stopped fighting to grasp.

The tight, welcoming heat around was nearly unbearable, but even more was the open look of abandon on his wife’s beautiful face. His lips lifted against and again to meet her rhythm, letting himself be riden, taken, meeting his own needs as well as Myrcella’s. Here was his submission, his compliance, as she took control of his pleasure, his touch, and his sensation, and gave as much in return as she took.

A lioness was never more beautiful than when she knew her own power. And with a dragon at her back, what threat could the bleating lambs possibly pose?


End file.
